


i feel like i might sink and drown and die

by tamquams



Series: unless you wanna come along? [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, First Kiss, Flirting and banter, M/M, Ronan Compliant Language, alternate get together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27553579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams
Summary: There are no games with Ronan, not when it comes to this,them, and really, Adam doesn’t want there to be.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Series: unless you wanna come along? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014039
Comments: 42
Kudos: 244





	i feel like i might sink and drown and die

**Author's Note:**

> i think like 2 people expressed interest in a sequel to [you should take it as a compliment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484870) so this one's for y'all ♡

“So,” Gansey begins. His voice is deliberate and meaningful, and Adam is already anxious about whatever it is he’s about to say. Hands clasped on the tabletop in front of him, he looks like a high school guidance counselor preparing to ask a student about their plans for the future, and Adam knows from experience that those meetings rarely end well. Gansey pauses dramatically, waiting till he’s sure that he has Adam and Ronan’s full attention, before continuing, “are the two of you planning on attending the winter formal this year?”

Adam turns to look at Ronan, who is already twisted in his seat to face Adam. Their eyes meet for a few moments, engaging in wordless conversation, and then they both promptly burst into laughter. 

Gansey furrows his brows and lets out a deep sigh, ever the drama queen. “I don’t know what’s so funny about it,” he mumbles, clearly disgruntled, as he takes off his glasses and cleans them on the hem of his sweater. “Jane and I will be attending.”

Ronan’s shoulder is still shaking with laughter where it’s pressed against Adam’s. They’re sitting side-by-side, close enough to touch but not quite close enough for Gansey to give them that strange look he sometimes dons when Adam sings obnoxiously in Ronan’s face or Ronan drapes himself over Adam’s back and rests his head on Adam’s shoulder. Things between them have been different for a while now, but it’s become increasingly clear in the last month or so that they’re building up to something. Adam isn’t completely sure what it is, but he has a few ideas, and until they get there, he’s more than happy to continue with their ludicrous game of gay chicken; he just wishes Gansey would stay out of it. Under the table, where Gansey can’t see, Adam presses his knee against Ronan’s, and he has to repress a smirk at the way Ronan’s laughter hitches momentarily at the contact. 

From the hostess stand at the front of Nino’s, Blue glares daggers at the boys. The idea of her at an Aglionby dance is so ridiculous — the _Aglionby_ part, not the _dance_ part — that Adam can’t help but laugh louder, despite the look of disapproval Gansey shoots him. It doesn’t help that Ronan is leaning closer just a bit, no doubt in retaliation for Adam’s little knee move, and Adam can’t hold back the blush rising to his cheeks. Luckily, Gansey doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he has other things on his mind.

“Okay,” Gansey says placatingly, his hands raised in surrender. “I get it. It’s a ridiculous notion to even consider the idea that you two might attend a school function of your own free will. My apologies for being so clueless. I thank you both for your candor.”

In his peripheral, Adam can see Ronan roll his eyes and open his mouth, probably to say something snarky, so Adam interrupts before he can make the situation any worse. “Oh, come on, Gansey,” Adam says, leaning forward slightly. He loses the warmth of Ronan’s arm against his, which is a shame, but at that exact moment Ronan hooks his ankle around Adam’s, so. Adam blinks a few times to get his focus back on the task at hand rather than the inch of skin-to-skin contact at their ankles. “Don’t get so passive aggressive about it. It’s just funny. I mean, do Lynch and I _look_ like the type of guys to go to a school dance?”

Gansey’s eyes flicker over the pair of them, taking them in — Ronan’s shaved head and leather jacket, Adam’s analytical eyes and grease-stained shirt — before he says, dead serious, “Well, yes.”

It takes all of Adam’s self control to refrain from laughing again. “Gansey,” he says, fondly exasperated (as is his natural state when interacting with Gansey). “This isn’t anything against _you_. We just wouldn’t have any fun.”

“Plus,” Ronan adds helpfully, “we don’t have dates, anyway.”

Immediately, Gansey’s face brightens. That, at least, is a problem he can solve. “I can find you dates!” he assures them. “I know the perfect girls for you two! Just give me one second—” He removes his phone from his pocket and begins scrolling through his contacts as Ronan guffaws and Adam waves his hands, alarmed.

“ _Woah_ ,” Adam cuts in, elbowing Ronan in the ribs. “No, Gansey, no way. Lynch is kidding. We’re good. It’s fine. Please don’t.” Ronan presses his forehead against Adam’s shoulder as he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, hysterical laughter bubbling over his lips, and Adam can’t decide if he wants to lean into the touch or shove Ronan right out of the booth. He swallows thickly and looks up and ah, yes, there it is, Gansey is frowning thoughtfully at them, his brows knit together and the cogs obviously turning in his head. Adam figures that if he’s offering to find them _girls_ to take to the dance, he probably isn’t on the right track, but Adam still hates the idea of Gansey studying them so closely. Even though they’re in public, it feels wrong somehow to let anyone else see this ridiculous ritual of theirs. Unthinkingly, Adam shifts away from Ronan ever so slightly, and Ronan, taking the hint, sits up straight again.

Gansey’s frown deepens for some reason, but he just shakes his head and returns his imploring gaze to Adam. “Fine,” he says, in a voice that very clearly conveys that _this is not fine_. “Don’t go. But I would like the record to show that I warned you both that you will very dearly regret missing out on this quintessential high school experience. This is your last chance to attend the winter formal, after all.”

Adam’s pretty sure that he’s missed out on a lot more quintessential high school experiences than this, but he knows that’s not a particularly winning argument. Instead, he says, “Noted,” then changes the subject to dead Welsh kings before Gansey can get any more great ideas. 

The dance is scheduled to take place the first Saturday of winter break, and Adam purposely schedules back-to-back-to-back shifts at all three of his jobs so that he can’t be guilted into attending or even hanging out at Monmouth while his friends get ready. It seems that he should have packed his schedule for the entire three weeks leading up to the formal, though, because he can’t even come within ten yards of Gansey (or Noah, or Henry, or even Blue) during that time without getting swept up in their preparations. All things considered, Noah is pretty chill about it all, just seeking second opinions on his tuxedo choice (completely white with a bold patterned tie — it would be horrific on anyone else, but on Noah, it’s just adorable). Gansey and Henry and Blue, however, are a _very_ different story.

Gansey and Henry and Blue ( _Sarchengsey_ , Noah nicknames them excitedly, but Adam isn’t sure he can force the word from his lips quite yet) seem to be attending the formal as a unit. It’s their official debut as a ‘throuple,’ and Adam is happy for them, of course, but he is so freaking _tired_ of having to hear about color schemes and corsage designs and the never ending debate between renting a limo or driving the Pig. He doesn’t want to rain on their parade, though, so he just resolves to spend more time by himself. And that works, for the most part, keeps him from snapping and telling Gansey and Henry exactly where they can shove their matching bow-ties, but it also has another effect: it escalates his timeline with Ronan.

Ronan, who is just as intent on avoiding Gansey and co. as Adam, begins spending nearly all of his free time at St. Agnes. He’s even there when Adam’s at work, sitting in a darkened pew or in the hallway outside Adam’s door as he waits. He sleeps on Adam’s floor, which isn’t new but feels more weighty these days. He drives Adam to and from work sometimes, smirking as he runs red lights and Adam glares at him from the passenger’s seat. He sits on the edge of Adam’s desk before class when he deigns to show up, scribbling crude Latin jokes in the margins of Adam’s notes. And all the while, they’re exchanging this semi-flirty banter and these private lopsided smiles and these purposeful touches. He’s stopped shooting furtive glances in Ronan’s direction and started looking, openly, unabashedly, and more often than not he finds Ronan already looking back at him. In the shadow and safety of his apartment, there’s no Gansey to analyze their every interaction, so Adam never leans away when Ronan invades his personal space. It’s like a honeymoon period, except for the pesky fact that they aren’t actually _together_. Adam knows that’s where they’re heading, though, that their collision point is steadily coming nearer and nearer, and so he doesn’t mind this absurd courtship. If anything, he’s sort of enjoying himself.

The thing is, _wanting_ and _waiting_ are not unfamiliar sensations for Adam. He’s mastered the art of patience, more from necessity than anything else, and since it’s been years since his _oh shit I like boys_ existential crisis and months since his _oh shit I like Ronan_ existential crisis, he’s pretty much at peace with it all. Sure, he sometimes gets these urges to just pull Ronan in by the collar of his shirt and kiss him senseless, but he can wait. He knows that he has to wait. Because, as much as he likes to think of these circles they’re going in as _gay chicken_ or _cat and mouse_ , he knows very well that they’re not playing any games. There are no games with Ronan, not when it comes to this, _them_ , and really, Adam doesn’t want there to be.

So, is Adam surprised to come home to find Ronan Lynch sitting outside his apartment the night of the winter formal? Not at all.

Is Adam _pleased_ to come home to find Ronan Lynch sitting outside his apartment the night of the winter formal? Hell yeah.

Ronan is sitting on the floor of the hallway, his back to the wall just to the left of the door. He’s got his head tilted back, his eyes closed, and a pair of fancy headphones blaring shitty music in his ears. He doesn’t notice Adam approaching, doesn’t even register that Adam is unlocking the door barely a foot away from Ronan’s head, so Adam nudges Ronan’s thigh with his foot. Ronan’s eyes blink open and he slowly pushes himself upright and follows Adam into the apartment without a word, stopping his music and removing his headphones as he goes.

He closes the door behind himself and leans against it, shoulders slumped and one leg bent at the knee, as Adam moves further into the apartment and sinks into his rickety desk chair. He turns to make eye contact with Ronan and it hits him suddenly _oh, it’s gonna be tonight_.

This instinctual knowledge that they’re nearing the finish line flips a switch in Adam’s head. One moment, he’s cool and collected, and the next he’s speechless. All of a sudden, he feels like he’s way out of his depth, like he’s drowning, like he’s gonna fuck everything up and he should just —

“Parrish,” says Ronan, breaking through Adam’s panic and bringing it to a halt. “Look at me.”

 _I am_ , Adam thinks. _I never stop._ He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, and as he continues to stare at Ronan, he feels some of his anxiety dissipate. 

“Better,” says Ronan, and one of his hands closes around the doorknob. He jerks his head slightly. “Now, let’s go.”

Adam arches an eyebrow. “Go where?” he asks hesitantly, like he wouldn’t follow Ronan to the ends of the goddamn Earth.

Ronan’s grin is sharp and lethal, but it slides off Adam harmlessly. “Does it matter?” he asks, twirling his keyring around an index finger, and, _huh._

“Nope,” Adam says truthfully, standing up and following Ronan right back out of the apartment.

“You need to chill the fuck out,” Ronan says as they descend the stairs. Adam’s behind him, so he can’t see Ronan’s face, but the words don’t have any bite to them. Ronan jumps the last five steps and barely manages to stick his landing as Adam comes trotting down behind him. “You think too much.”

Adam shoves Ronan’s shoulder as they cross in front of the beemer, heading for their respective sides of the vehicle. “One of us has to, Lynch,” he says, and Ronan just smirks.

The inside of the BMW is still warm from Ronan’s trip here, and Adam takes a moment just to be grateful for that as he buckles himself in, because the furnace in his apartment is more than a little shitty and he’s pretty sure he isn’t going to be this warm again until school’s back in session. Across the gearshift, Ronan starts the car and then immediately reaches out to turn down the radio, but not before Adam gets an earful of what Ronan had been blasting on the way here. And it is _not_ what Adam is expecting.

“Was that Taylor Swift?” Adam accuses the moment the music dies out, turning in his seat to face Ronan. “That was Taylor Swift. What happened to your Murder Squash song?”

In the faint glow of the dash lights, it’s impossible to tell if Ronan is flushing, but his scowl is loud and clear. His eyes dart back and forth between Adam and the windshield as he effortlessly shifts gears and begins to peel out of the lot. “Fuck you, Parrish, mind your business,” he says over the squeal of the brakes. 

Adam huffs out a laugh, and the second that Ronan turns to check his mirror, Adam snakes out a hand to turn the volume up again. He just manages to catch _is this the end of all the endings? my broken bones are mending_ — before Ronan is turning it off again, jerking the steering wheel in the process and nearly sending them skidding off the road.

“I fucking hate you, you know that?” Ronan snaps, ejecting the CD entirely and letting it fall into the center console. Adam glances at it and then looks at Ronan again, caught somewhere between humor, adoration, and disbelief.

“You have a physical copy of a Taylor Swift CD?” deadpans Adam, his mouth agape. “Like, you went to a store, and you grabbed this off a display, and you walked up to a cashier—”

Ronan interrupts him haughtily. “Fuck no,” he spits, fingers drumming nervously against the steering wheel. “I used the self-checkout, Jesus Christ.” He pauses, furrows his brows, and adds, “For the record, Reputation is a hardcore album, Parrish.”

Adam laughs again, open and fond. “Oh, I’m sure it is,” he says, more or less genuine, and before Ronan can argue he continues, “I’m not laughing at you, you know. Well, I am, but I’m not… Like, it’s not cringey or whatever. It’s more like putting more pieces together. It’s just unexpected. Not bad, not even weird, really, just… I have to realign my mental image of you, is all.”

And it’s the truth. Adam is long past the point of thinking he knows everything about Ronan, but he wants to. He wants to know the things that Ronan feels like he has to hide, and he wants Ronan to know that those things are safe with him. Because they are. The guilty pleasure music and the embarrassing childhood anecdotes and the domestic bad habits. All of it. If Ronan leaves toothpaste in the sink, Adam wants to know. If Ronan hogs the blankets at night, Adam wants to know. If Ronan leaves his clothes in the dryer for three days before folding them, Adam wants to know.

He thinks he should probably be scared. He should be terrified of the volume of this _want_ , by the way it consumes him. He should be scared, because this is Ronan, and there will be no dipping a toe in to test the waters. It’s all or nothing. It’s sink or swim. And Adam should want to run for the hills, because he doesn’t go anywhere without an escape plan, but all he really feels is peace. The way he feels on the rare occasions when he gets to disappear into the woods for a while, when it’s just him and the trees and the tickle of a breeze against the hair at the back of his neck. It’s contradictory to everything Adam knows about Ronan that Ronan can make him feel this way, but he’s not complaining. It makes him think of the time he asked Gansey about love. _She makes me quiet_ , Gansey had said about Blue. And Adam thinks he kinda gets it.

Not that Ronan always makes him quiet. Ronan, in Adam’s experience, has two effects on him: sometimes, sure, he makes him “quiet” like Blue and Gansey. He swaggers into Adam’s apartment and everything grows softer, easier, in Ronan’s glow. The storm in Adam’s head clears up and his heart unravels itself just the slightest bit, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough. But then there are times when Ronan makes him wild. It’s only with Ronan that Adam dares to do anything fierce or reckless, only under Ronan’s guidance that Adam will climb into a shopping cart or allow himself to be pulled around parking lots on moving dollies. It’s Ronan who coaxes excited whoops and wild grins and feral laughs from Adam, who makes him feel like he can be _more_. More than a scholarship student, more than former trailer trash, more than all of this.

So, maybe that’s why Adam’s not afraid. Because this is _Ronan_ , and maybe Ronan is abrasive and foolhardy and impossible, but he’s got this velvet, vulnerable heart and he will never, ever hurt Adam. Adam knows it like he knows his own name. Knows that if there is anyone in the universe to trust, it’s Ronan. It’s always been Ronan.

They drive in silence for a while, Adam considering all of this and Ronan steering with his knees so he can chew on the leather bands at his wrist. Adam isn’t sure where they’re going, he can’t really make out much outside his window other than the flash of passing trees and the occasional house, but that’s fine. He knows that Ronan will take him to the right place, wherever that is. Let Ronan show his feelings; he’s never been good at saying them, why start now? Ronan shows his love in gestures and gifts and unspoken riddles, and that’s fine. Adam’s well versed in reading between the lines. He busies himself with staring at the hard edge of the headlight’s reach and remembers the game he played as a child, in the backseat of his parents’ shitty old car, imagining the darkness as a sentient monster chasing them down the worn-out roads of Henrietta. There are no monsters here now, not even in Adam’s memories; the most frightening thing in the forest tonight is Ronan, and he is Adam’s, so there’s nothing left to fear.

Ronan drives, and drives, and drives, and the silence in the car should be oppressive but it’s not. He turns on to a dirt road seemingly at random and floors it, taking them way out to the boonies, and Adam catches himself smirking as his hand darts up to latch onto the handle above the door. He sneaks a glance at Ronan and finds him already looking back, grinning wickedly.

“Eyes on the road,” Adam chastises, even as he blushes bright pink.

Ronan obliges, turning away again, but it’s less than a minute before he whips the beemer into an entrance that Adam recognizes immediately. A half-mile down the dirt driveway, the main farmhouse of the Barns looms against the cloudy night sky, windows dark yet welcoming. They must have taken a different route here, because Adam’s pretty sure he would have noticed passing the Singer’s Falls sign, but he doesn’t ask, just braces himself as the car flies down the driveway and slides into a stop at the end. With a triumphant smile, Ronan puts his car in park and hops right out, expecting Adam to follow.

And follow, Adam does. He follows Ronan up the porch steps and waits a few feet behind him while Ronan fishes around for his keys and lets them into the house. Ronan flicks light switches as they come inside, but it doesn’t escape Adam that it’s warm inside and there’s a paperback book resting spine-up on the arm of the couch. Ronan’s been here recently, probably earlier today. Maybe this is where he was before he showed up in the hall outside Adam’s door. 

Ronan leads Adam back through toward the kitchen, where a few clean dishes sit on a drying rack beside the sink. A coffee mug. A glass. A plate. A frying pan. The room still smells faintly like food, but Adam can’t quite place it. Eggs, maybe? Pancakes? Ronan provides no answers, just tugs a heavy brown coat from a hook and tosses it in Adam’s general direction before slinking out the back door. Adam pulls the coat on without protest and steps out after him, not willing to lose sight of Ronan in the solid darkness of the overcast night.

Wherever Ronan is going, whatever his plan, he doesn’t bother checking over his shoulder to make sure Adam is still there. There’s a certain faith in that, in his unwavering belief that Adam will follow, that sends a shiver down Adam’s spine. He hasn’t earned this belief in his loyalty, but then again, isn’t that what faith is in the first place? Blind trust in the goodness of another person? Adam wants Ronan to be right. He jogs a few steps and falls in at Ronan’s side, and Ronan jostles him with his elbow, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket.

As Adam’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he gets a better idea of where they’re headed; Ronan’s cutting a clear path to the largest barn on the property, an imposing building that makes even the main house look small. The first time Adam had been here, on an illegal visit with their friends, this barn — and all the others — had just been a shoddy backdrop, all peeling paint and rotted paneling. Now, it’s obvious that Ronan has been putting his time here to good use. Adam can’t make out the other barns in the distance, but this one is pretty much repaired, half the outer wall painted firehouse red and the scent of sawdust still fresh in the air. Instead of heading inside the barn, though, Ronan walks along the building and then, to Adam’s surprise, takes a step up, and then another step, and Adam realizes there’s a ladder built into the wall.

Ronan climbs higher and Adam doesn’t think, he just follows, going up and up and up until Ronan’s crawled onto the roof and he’s reaching out a hand for Adam. Adam takes it, lets himself be pulled up onto the flat surface of the roof as well, and then sprawls out on his back. He doesn’t like heights, not really, but if he can’t see the edge of the roof then he doesn’t think it should be that bad. He likes the view of the sky from up here, even if it’s more cloud than star, and he really likes the comforting weight of Ronan as Ronan stretches out beside him, arm-to-arm. 

“If it wasn’t so cloudy,” Adam says, squinting at the sliver of the moon peeking out from behind the clouds, “I could show you my favorite constellation.” He doesn’t really know why he’s speaking, or why he’s talking about stars of all things, but the words keep falling from his tongue. “Lacerta.”

Beside him, Ronan snorts. “Lizard? What’s the myth for that one?”

“No myth,” says Adam. “Just a couple of stars that someone decided looked like a lizard. It doesn’t, really, but no constellation actually looks like it’s supposed to.”

“Supposed to,” repeats Ronan. “They were there first. Not their fault that people came along and decided to turn them into connect-the-dot pictures.”

Adam considers this, then sighs. “I guess not. It’s a really human thing to do, though, isn’t it? To look at these random, unconnected things, and to draw them into pictures and give them stories? Like the way you bump into an inanimate object and tell it to fuck off, or when people name their cars. Humanizing things that couldn’t be less human.”

Instead of responding to any of that, Ronan blurts out, “I like it when you say ‘fuck,’” then immediately buries his face in his hands.

Adam barks out a laugh. “Oh,” he says, amused and endeared. “Yeah?”

He half expects Ronan to backtrack, but that wouldn’t be like Ronan at all. “Yeah,” Ronan says, voice muffled. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I won’t,” Adam lies. He props himself up on one elbow and wraps a hand around one of Ronan’s wrists. “Look at me.”

It takes a second of prying, but finally one of Ronan’s hands falls away from his face. He squints at Adam with one eye, but the apprehension pretty much melts off his face when Adam reaches for his other hand. “You’re the worst,” Ronan complains, even as he intercepts Adam’s hand and intertwines their fingers instead. 

“I’m the _fucking_ worst,” Adam corrects, just to see Ronan’s reaction. He isn’t disappointed; Ronan rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips quirk up in something like a smile and there is just enough moonlight for Adam to confirm that he’s blushing.

They’re both quiet for a second, Adam smoothing his thumb over Ronan’s, and then Ronan sits up, too, still squeezing Adam’s hand. There’s a lot of meaning Ronan is packing into the small touch, fragmented sentences he would never say out loud like _I’m glad you came with me_ and _I’m glad we didn’t go to that stupid fucking dance_ and _I can’t believe this is happening._

It’s only a matter of time before Ronan leans in, eyelids fluttering closed.

Adam can count Ronan’s freckles. He can count his eyelashes. Instead, he lets his own eyes slide shut and leans in to meet Ronan halfway, lips parting. It’s a whisper of a kiss, more an exchanging of breath than anything else, but Adam feels himself flush all the way to his chest anyway. He thinks, distantly, that he’s probably squeezing Ronan’s hand too hard, but he can’t bring himself to let go.

“Adam?” Ronan murmurs, a hair’s breadth away, a question and an answer and a confession and a prayer all rolled into one. Adam doesn’t even answer, just leans back in and kisses him again.

This kiss is a real kiss. Their lips meet and one of Ronan’s hands comes up to cup Adam’s cheek, and Adam lifts their joined hands to his chest, and something just clicks into place. This is it. This is how it’s supposed to be. Life and love and everything else, it’s supposed to feel like _this_. Light and airy and safe and wonderful and _magic_. Adam has never believed in magic, not until this exact moment, because there is no way to kiss Ronan Lynch and not think that there is something otherworldly in him. Fate, destiny — it all makes sense now. All the myths, the legends, the stories. Adam finally understands. He would say this, explain to Ronan that he _gets_ it, except that would involve separating their lips and Adam’s pretty sure he would rather die.

They do have to pull away eventually, sitting back and catching their breath, but by then Adam can’t put words to his revelations. Hell, he’d be lucky to remember his own name. His entire brain, the blood pumping through his heart, every nerve ending in his body only knows one thing: the ceaseless chant of _Ronan, Ronan, Ronan_. 

“Say something,” whispers Ronan after a second. He sounds… afraid, almost, but that can’t be right. What is there to be afraid of? Adam lifts his head to arch a brow at him and realizes that he’s let go of Ronan’s hand, and it might look like he’s staring at the sky wondering how he ended up here. And he hates that nervous look on Ronan’s face, hates the uneasiness in his voice. Hates that _he_ put it there. Adam’s mind races, looking for something, anything, that will make Ronan honest and open again, that will reassure him that Adam hasn’t gone anywhere.

The words come to Adam out of nowhere. “Unguibus et rostro,” he says, pushing himself up and leaning forward. He moves the collar of Ronan’s jacket out of the way, then plants a careful kiss where a tendril of Ronan’s elaborate tattoo peaks out at the side of his neck.

Ronan tenses and then immediately softens, sighing under Adam’s touch and sliding his arms around Adam’s waist. Adam places a few more closed-mouth kisses to the edges of the tattoo and then kisses his way across Ronan’s jaw, finally landing on his lips, before breaking away just enough to touch their foreheads together. It’s so sweet and so tender that it aches, but Adam will never complain about pain if it’s the price he has to pay for _this_.

“Imagine if we had gone to that fucking dance,” Ronan says softly after a while, thumbing at Adam’s hairline.

Adam breathes out a laugh. “I don’t know about you, but I think I like our choice better.”

Adam can feel the heat rise in Ronan’s face as a blush spreads across his cheeks. “Me too,” Ronan admits quietly. He gives a gentle, pleased hum, and smiles against Adam’s lips. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y'all liked it!! and i hope you're all doing well and staying safe ♡ ps the song that ronan was listening to in the car was taylor swift's _king of my heart_. lots of love!


End file.
